


Scars

by teamfreetitan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Cuddles, Depression, Destiel - Freeform, Feels, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Sad, Shipper!Sam, absolute destiel, its 1 am im sorry, its good I swear, maybe you will cry??, no im reallly not i lied, trigger warning so proceed with caution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 17:56:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3420170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teamfreetitan/pseuds/teamfreetitan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes there is a pain, but it isn't physical; it's in your soul. Dean Winchester know that as well as anyone. He's broken, but maybe there's someone who can put him together again.</p><p>Disclaimer: I don't own Dean, Sam, Cas, or Supernatural. If I did, destiel would be canon.</p><p>Trigger warnings! Self harm, depression, etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while back as an alternative for self harming. I didn't want to post it, but now I am for casizard on Instagram. I hope you find the Dean to your Cas one day, hon. <3

Dean stared down at the blade in his hand. It was just a regular blade, like any kitchen knife, that they could use on any regular hunt, but, although he had cleaned the blade since their last hunt, the tip was covered in blood. Dean’s blood, to be precise. 

The oldest Winchester dragged the cool metal against his own skin, blood pooling up every slow motion. Tears slipped across his cheeks, eventually falling into an absorbed pool on his bed. Blood dribbled across his forearm.

He let out a cry of pain. Not physical, no. He had felt pain much greater than the feel of a knife scraping his forearm. This pain was mental. It was a dam of guilt and regret and self loathing, and the dam was overflowing.

The sounds he made were less like the emotionless façade he had built up over his life, but more like the loud, scared cries of a young child who had a terrifying nightmare. He was practically having a panic attack. His breath hitched in his lungs and throat. The oxygen he was in taking would be long, and his exhales rapid ejections of carbon dioxide, each cut short by a cry or moan.

His arm stung like hell as salty tears dripped onto it, but he ignored it. The pain was not in his arm. It was in his heart. 

There was a knock on the door. “Dean?” A deep voice said shortly after the knock. “You sound distressed. Are you injured? Do you require my help?” All Dean could process was the thought of Damn it. There’s no way I can hide this. Dozens of knife wounds don’t just go away. Damn it, damn it, damn it.

“Go away, Cas!” He yelled through the door, his voice breaking on the angel’s name. He heard the knob turn slowly, and he did all he could to hide the pool of blood on his right arm. Since he was bare chested, he had no sleeves he could pull down. He reached for the nearest thing, his black t-shirt, and wiped his eyes sloppily. Then, he slammed the shirt down on his arm just as Castiel poked his head through the door. Dean let out a soft whimper of pain before looking up.

He knew Cas could see his face, the wetness on his cheekbones, and the red, puffy skin around his eyes. He offered a weak smile. 

“Hey.” He said calmly, despite the tears welling up in his eyes still. 

“Dean, you are upset. Why?” Cas asked, looming over the bed where Dean was sitting, the shirt still shoved against the cuts on his arms. 

Dean laughed. It was forced, to say the least. “What?” He asked, still forcing laughs to erupt from his mouth. “I d-don’t know what your talking about. I’m fine.” He looked away. It was painfully obvious he was forcing it. Any person who was actually okay would genuinely laugh, and say, “Oh, yeah. I’m good.” and smile. The genuineness would show through their eyes, like sunshine through white curtains. Dean, despite that he laughed and said he was okay, was bluntly not. His eyes, at least enough to convince the angel, were filled with nothing but pain. They told Cas what Dean meant even when Dean wasn’t saying it.

“Dean, I am aware you are lying.” As Cas moved closer to inspect why Dean’s t-shirt was wrapped around his arm, Dean took a long scoot back, until his back was against the wall. He moved his arm as far away as possible, because shielding it from Cas’ relentless gaze was a challenge.

Cas moved onto the soft comforter and began to crawl towards Dean. He stopped when he was practically on top of Dean.

“Dean Winchester.” Cas said, his voice a low growl. “You will show me what you are hiding or God so help me…” 

The hunter gave up, pushing his arm out towards Cas, who took it, and pulled off the fabric slowly. The dried blood and newly formed scabs came off with it, leaving new blood dripping from the cuts and scrapes. Dean sighed softly, beginning to tear up again. He knew he couldn’t hide the new scars forever, but he at least wanted to last more than ten God damn minutes. He wanted to prolong the inevitable.

Cas gasped quietly. “Dean…” 

He stared up at the angel, his green eyes somehow still sparkling, even through layers of pain and lashes covered in tears. “Please don’t tell Sammy.” He requested in a cracking voice that was hardly audible. 

Dean began to cry again, his chest falling and rising rapidly. He was pretty sure he heard Cas say something about cleaning the wounds, but he wasn’t quite sure. Dean felt Cas’ warm arms scoop him up, with one arm under his knees and the other arm around his back and under his arms. He wrapped one arm, his left one, around Cas’ neck and pressed his face into Cas’ chest. He knew tears were absorbing into the angel’s shirt and trench coat, but he didn’t care, and Cas probably wouldn’t either.

His eyes didn’t make a reappearance until they were in another room in the bunker, and light flipped on. Cas set Dean on the tiled floor of the bathroom, his feet freezing against the chilly tiling.

“Please sit on the counter, Dean.” Cas requested as kindly as he could. Dean did as he was told, sitting on the long expanse of stone countertop. He found that his breathing had returned to normal as Cas rummaged through cabinets in the bathroom. Finally, Cas stood next to the hunter with handfuls of supplies.

“How badly do they hurt, Dean?” Cas asked.

Dean snorted. “This isn’t a fucking hospital, is it?” 

“Dean.”

“Eight, Cas. On a scale of one to ten, they are an eight.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Cas said as he set to work. 

Cas soaked a pale red wash rag in the sink until it had absorbed as much as it could. He wrung it out and laid it against the edge of the sink. His hands opened some bottle of who-knows-what. He unwrapped a long strip of gauze. As a last thought, he also read a package of some jar filled with pills, took one out, and handed it to Dean.

“Do not take that yet. I will be back in a few seconds.” Cas disappeared and reappeared with a white coffee mug from the bunker’s kitchen, filled with water. “Now take it.” 

Dean swallowed the pill and down the glass of clear liquid at the same time. Cas then pulled over the wet cloth and began to wipe to wounds. Blood instantly soaked into the rag. Cas put gentle pressure on them until he was sure each and every one of them had stopped the immense bleeding. 

Cas silently counted each of the cuts, and sighed sadly. “You cut twenty-two times, Dean. Why would you ever do such a thing to yourself?” Dean shook his head. “Please, Dean, tell me.” Dean shook his head again.

He was sitting on that counter, with his legs swinging slowly, and his head staring at his lap. Cas didn’t think he had ever seen Dean look so vulnerable. Dean, the righteous man, the hero, had a strong, emotionless façade this whole time, but right now he looked like a little kid about to be scolded. Only then could Cas see that Dean was just a scared little boy putting on a act.

“Can we talk about this later?” Cas nodded. 

Dean heard a little squirt and felt the wounds sting slightly. The bottle of unknown substance had been disinfectant, he guessed, and let Cas dab at it with the rag.

Finally, after what felt like hours of patching up, Cas was done. He put the supplies he had used away and looked back up to find the older Winchester brother staring at him. Cas offered his hand, and Dean took it.

He followed the angel into his room. Cas motioned to the bed. “Sit.” Dean sat down cross-legged in the center of the bed. Cas scooted onto the bed and sat across from him with their knees together.

“Dean, why would you do something so bad to yourself?” 

He inhaled deeply and began to talk. “I’m a failure, Cas. If it wasn’t for me, so many people would be alive. Jess, Ellen, Jo, Bobby, and more. I’m the person who brought Sam away from the life he wanted and back into the life he hated. I’m the reason you’re on earth and not in heaven. I’m why so many civil wars have started in heaven. I’ve lied countless times. I’ve had sex with way too many people. I’ve been a demon. I’m in love with some who, if they ever found out, would be disgusted by me and never talk to me again. You should have left me in hell. I deserve to me in hell, Cas.” Dean said, never making eye contact.

“Do you know what it’s like?” Dean asked the angel, who shook his head, and reached out for Dean’s hand, wrapping his own fingers around Dean’s, which were shaking so hard it could nearly be described as vibration. “It’s like… It’s like you are sitting alone in your room in the middle of the night, and you are trying to sleep, but then a voice in the back of your head starts to say all the things you’ve done wrong. It doesn’t stop, the voice. It keeps going, telling you that you deserve to be hurt back, as a result of all the people you’ve hurt. This voice pressures you to hurt yourself, and there’s a blade right there, so why the hell not? Then you reach for the blade, and you try to restrain yourself, but the power of this metaphorical demon is telling you to just do it. So you grab the blade and start to dragging it across your skin. And tears start to come out, but you can’t help it. Every mark you make with the blade makes the voice quiet down. Not enough to be gone, but enough to make you feel just a little bit better. So you keep going, trying to get rid of this demon. The cuts sting like hell, and you know that anyone around you would get upset if they found out, but that doesn’t stop you, because you want it. And you just keep going.” Dean concludes his speech, pulling his hand back from Cas’. 

“Dean Winchester, you are so much more than the few mistakes you’ve made. And you cannot possibly say it was your fault so many people died, Dean. You are the reason so many people have lived. I know for a fact that Sam has gotten over the death of Jess. He’s okay with this life, as long as you are here. As for myself, I am actually quite happy. I never was this happy in heaven, and you know why I’m happy here? Because of you, Dean. You are the most important person I have had the honor of meeting. Your soul is pure, Dean. It shines brighter than all the rest. The demon thing wasn’t your fault, either. You were trying to do the right thing when you took the Mark. You don’t deserve hell. You deserve heaven, and so much more.” 

Dean somberly ran the pads of his fingertips against Cas’ knuckles. Something about the feeling of their hands locked gave Dean a sense of security, a sense of hope that he didn’t have when Cas wasn’t next to him, and he could have stayed there forever, but only because of this painkiller, the hope, the pureness that was the angel next to him.

“Dean?” He looked up, pure green eyes locking with icy blue ones. “You mentioned something about being in love with someone who would never love you back. Would you mind telling me who?”

Dean’s face brightened red as he looked towards his lap and whispered, “You.” 

Silence fell between the two before Dean said, “Go ahead, leave. I knew you would hate me for it. I’m sorry, just l-leave.” Dean’s voice began to crack as he started to cry again. 

“Dean, I don’t hate you. Quite the contrary, actually. I am in love with you, too. I know it sounds cliche, but I have been since I pulled you out of hell. You are brave, and smart, and funny. Your eyes are gorgeous and so are you as a whole. I love all the big things and all the little things, too, like how you love pie or the way your laugh sounds when it’s genuine. I am completely in love with you, Dean, I just did not know how to express it, because I believed you were only romantically and sexually interested in women.”

Dean looked up, furrowing his eyebrows. “You mean it, don’t you?” Cas nodded. Dean’s lips turned up at the corners a little bit. 

And then they were kissing.

Neither of them knew who kissed first. They both just leaned in. Their lips touched, and it was everything Dean had hoped for and more. The soft, pink flesh of Cas’ lips worked in a perfect motion with Dean’s. Dean’s right and Cas’ left hands grabbed for each other, intertwining as they had before Dean had pulled away when he thought Cas was going to be upset. His other hand found the back of Cas’ neck, pulling him closer. Cas right hand sought Dean’s waist, running his fingers against the strong muscles of Dean’s back.

Dean’s tongue swiped at Cas’ bottom lip, and Cas made a soft, content noise and opened up for Dean. Their tongues met softly. Cas tasted wonderful. Their kiss was filled with so much passion, and when Dean pulled back, he was panting.

“I love you, Dean.” Cas murmured again.

Dean wrapped both hands around Cas’ waist and laid down, pulling Cas down with him. They were both laying together on their sides on top of the comforter. They stared at each other, their eyes saying so much more than words could possibly fathom saying. 

Dean smiled as he pressed their lips together again. 

“Are you feeling better now?” Cas asked when they broke apart. 

Dean nodded. “Much better. I don’t think I’ll ever be whole again, but I am much better, Cas.” 

“Good.” Cas said. They were so close together that Dean could feel the movement of Cas’ lips.

A few minutes of kisses later, Cas asked, “So, are you my boyfriend, now?”

Dean nodded. “If you want me to be, then yeah, I am.” 

“Good.” Cas sighed, a content, loving sigh. 

“We should tell Sam, but, not now. In the morning.” Cas agreed.

Some time later, they were beneath the sheets. Cas, like Dean, was only in his boxers. Dean was laying happily, with Cas behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist. As they spooned, Cas pressed soft feather kisses on Dean’s back, the light kisses easing his earlier stress further. A soft kiss on the back of his neck was the last thing Dean acknowledged before he fell into a deep slumber. 

~~~

Sam wasn’t too worried when Dean and Cas didn’t show up by eleven o’clock. They didn’t have a case yet, so Dean could sleep in today. And, well, Cas probably wouldn’t be there unless Dean was there, with the whole “profound bond” thing or whatever.

“Hey, Sammy.” Dean announced as he came into the kitchen. Sam looked up from the laptop screen, and saw Dean walk towards the table where he sat, with his hand in Cas’. “I--we--have something to tell you.”

“Okay, go ahead.” Sam smiled a little bit. He had a feeling about what was going to happen.

“Me and Cas are, uh, together. Like together together. I just thought you should know.” Dean said. He seemed kind of worried.

“Okay.” Sam replied. “Awesome, took you two long enough.” Both Cas and Dean’s faces blushed slightly, and the younger Winchester heard his brother say, “Too long.”

Dean and Cas turned back towards the door, presumably to go make out or something (Or at least, Sam hoped. He shipped them hard.), but Sam stopped them first.

“Dean, what’s with the bandage? It’s right over the Mark. Is it… Doing something weird.” Sam asked. He did care about his brother, and the whole Mark of Cain thing was a fucking disaster. 

He looked away uncomfortably. Cas thought back to what Dean had requested last night through gleaming tears. Please don’t tell Sammy. “It's nothing, Sam. Dean is feeling well.”

“Oh, okay. Just checking.” The two heard Sam say. “Hey!” He yelled as an afterthought. “I’m going out! Have sex or something while I’m gone!” 

Dean closed the door as he head Sam pick up his jacket from its place on the back of the chair. He pressed Cas against the door and kissed his pink lips with passion. “Want to take him up on his offer?” Dean asked into his boyfriend’s mouth.

“Oh Dad, yes.”


End file.
